A Temporary Cure for a Desperate Heart
by FrenchieLeigh
Summary: AU: With too much expected of her, and not enough expected of him, two delinquents seek comfort in the illegal actions of their makeshift relationship. ONESHOT/COMPLETE Saitou/Tokio


**Author's Note: ** I came to realize that in all of my S/T fics, they (eventually) have a very genuine love for each other. So I thought to myself, "Let's Frenchie-fy this" and give them something a little _darker_. :)

Fic was inspired by the insanely creepy, yet ridiculously beautiful song _Josephine _by The Wallflowers.

Want a **warning**? Have one: one big fat **illegal** age difference. That and Saitou isn't exactly his justice seeking self here.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**A Temporary Cure for a Desperate Heart**

It was half past three in the afternoon when Saitou Hajime pulled up to the entrance of the Academy, his black boots hitting the pavement while he held black beast of a motorcycle upright, observing the crowd of females with his narrow, golden eyes.

Nearing thirty, there wasn't much that he found interesting about the gaggle of adolescent females that stood gossiping and twittering on about the latest craze in pop culture. They were irritating, fanciful, and headache inducing. He couldn't stand their jabbering or the way they grew increasingly louder around their crushes, desperate to be noticed. They were, in one word: useless.

Except for one girl.

"_That's Tokio's boyfriend_."

_"He's so __**old**__." _

_ "What a little tramp_."

The whispers echoed through the courtyard of the high school, but fifteen year old Takagi Tokio held her head high, a small, triumphant little smirk gracing her pale face. As her ebon curls bounced behind her back and framed her face, she cast her sights on the man at the entrance and pulled her uniform's necktie from her white collared blouse. Tossing it over her shoulder, she reached up and undid the top two buttons. Her peers stiffened and Saitou smirked.

By the time she reached his motorcycle, the black lace of her pushup bra was poking out from the deep 'v' she had created by her open shirt, the swell of her breasts teasing the man before her.

"Good afternoon," she cooed, reaching up to stroke his face.

He smirked, lowering his mouth to hers, and closing her top with a commanding fist scrunching the fabric together.

"Don't put on a show, Tokio," he murmured, reaching behind him to retrieve the helmet on the back of his bike. He broke the kiss, handing it to her, "you don't want to get kicked out of school now, do you?"

She hopped onto the back of the bike, hugging him around his waist, chuckling, "it's a good thing I've got a big tough guy like you to take care of me."

He grunted in response, revving the engine and peeling away from the school, leaving behind the rumors. the drama, and the raging hormones. All except theirs, that is.

He remembered the first day he had come across Tokio. It had been six months prior, on a cold winter night. She had been in the park, on the swings, alone. Her face was ashen, her smile turned down into the deepest of frowns, and when the tears ran down her cheeks, he was certain they would freeze over.

Saitou himself had been out for a stroll, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the solitude of late nights. He should have been out celebrating. His best friend had recently gotten engaged to his high school sweetheart and tonight they were throwing a party at their enormous estate, shoving a combination of mushy lovey dovey bullshit and Christmas spirit down the throats of all their guests.

This never sat well with him. He was happy for them, he guessed, but the sentiment wasn't quite his style. It wasn't that he was jealous. Sure they were wealthy. Okita was the son of a prestigious diplomat, and his fianceé an heiress. They had been fed from silver spoons their entire lives and now they'd be able to feed each other.

Wonderful.

Saitou had abandoned the idea of love at a young age. His mother had, in a drunken stupor, abandoned him at his father's doorstep when he was eight years old. The underhanded, money grubbing Yuusuke had barely noticed his young son, waving him away unless it was to send him to the convenience store for munchies and caffeine.

School bored him. He was good at it, too good, and it didn't keep his attention. Not much did. Growing up, he had become a delinquent, smoking at a young age and finding too much pleasure in girls much older than himself. He learned to fend for himself, to fight for himself. He learned not to trust. He learned that the world existed only to bend itself to his will.

As an adult, Okita had studied his way into the police academy, climbing ranks with ease, while Saitou landed a job with a private detective, enjoying the career of shattering the lives of cheating whores like his mother and slimy low-life drug dealers like his father. There he could drink, he could smoke, and he could cuss all he liked, with no scrutiny. He could exact justice _his_ way.

Not that he particularly cared.

And it was on that night, when he had abandoned his friends, spending time instead _not_ pitying himself and his all around pathetic existence, that he came across the lonely Tokio.

"Girls are ugly when they cry," he had said coldly, coming up to stand next to her, passing her his lit cigarette.

She sniffed and looked up at the stranger, staring down at her with an unsmiling face and cruel, wolf's eyes. The silver zipper of his leather jacket shimmered in the moonlight and she accepted the cigarette, putting it to her lips.

She'd never smoked before.

"What do you care?" she asked, fighting back a cough as she exhaled roughly. She took another drag and muttered, "_creep_."

Saitou crossed his booted feet and leaned up against a pole that held the swing set together. "You shouldn't be out here. It's nearing one in the morning."

"Yeah well I'm not going home," she bit off, throwing her curls over her shoulder.

He didn't bother to ask why; he didn't care. But when she blew out some more smoke, she turned to him, her giant eyes grey and curious, and he felt his own breath catch in his throat.

She was beautiful.

"What's a punk like you doing in the park at this hour then?" she countered, kicking up some mulch. "wife kick you out?"

"I'm not married," he told her with a smirk.

"It's no wonder," she said sweetly, flicking the remains of the tobacco stick across the playground. He didn't say anything and from the corner of her eye, she watched him, waiting. It was downright creepy for a guy to be coming up to a teenager the way he did, but she didn't feel threatened.

She could still taste the tobacco in her mouth and she let out a humorless laugh. Now she really wouldn't be able to go back home.

Saitou lit up another and she turned to him, gauging him curiously. "Do you want to get out of here?"

It would be a lie to say he was surprised by her question. It was her tone that intrigued him. It wasn't seductive or suggestive. She was tired, and alone, but perhaps most of all, she was tired of being alone.

And it was then that he realized he was too.

She stood, giving him a short once over, taking in his black pants and boots, and the way he stood, so casual, yet so commanding. Her parents words echoed in her head.

_You are worthless! You are lazy, shameful, good for nothing! _

And she didn't care.

Sliding the cigarette out from his lips, she took a drag. Then, lowering it to her side, she stood on her toes, and in the middle of the frigid air, she kissed him.

"I don't know who you are," she whispered, her voice trembling, "but I need you to take me with you."

And he had.

For six months he had taken her with him, every day after school, on the back of his motorcycle, to his studio apartment where there were no classmates to judge, no parents to inflict fresh bruises in he name of perfection, and most of all, no reality to hinder them. Together, alone, they were invincible.

She had given herself to him freely, eagerly, and he had accepted. Perhaps he should have felt ashamed, or dirty, taking advantage of an adolescent girl half his age, but the truth was, he didn't. After a few weeks, she began to smile and no matter how much of a pervert society would label him, it was that smile that made him feel like his life was worth something.

It was interesting, really. The more she dallied with him, drinking with him, and warming his bed, the darker the bruises, the harsher the marks on her body, left by her parents. Yet the more pain was inflicted upon her flesh, the happier she became. She didn't hide them, and she didn't shrink away when he put his lips to them, an offering of healing, and a reminder that it was he who took that pain away.

Tokio had never been a particularly bad girl. She had grown up in a strict household and worked hard. As her schooling progressed and the material intensified, she found it much more difficult to keep her grades where they were expected to be. They weren't bad; she never failed, and she was always above average, but she could not manage to reach the top rank for her class.

In the Takagi house, this was unheard of.

At first she had worked harder, pushed herself past her limit, but to no avail. When the beatings began, she cried, and she begged. When she met Saitou, she rebelled.

That was why, when she slipped off his motorcycle that warm summer day, when the sun had long set and the moon hung high in the sky, she put a finger to her lips and laced her fingertips in with his. He raised a brow and when she pulled him forward, it was nearly impossible for him to resist.

"My parents are out of town," she whispered, batting her lashes slowly, taunting him.

"You'll be the death of me, girl," he growled, following her into the house, neither of them bothering to turn on the lights. They knew the way to her bed.

He didn't like coming to her house. He couldn't help but feel as if the neighbors were watching, waiting for any sign that something wasn't right. How unfortunate would it be for him if the police were to show up, if his own friend were to arrest him for a crime he had willingly committed. They were men of the law.

Saitou's law was just a bit more crooked.

Half an hour later, Tokio sat upright, straddling his bare hips, wrapped in nothing but a light blanket. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks were flushed, but her grin was mischievous.

"Don't tell me you're ready to go again," he moaned, throwing an arm over his eyes, groaning and wanting nothing more than to sleep.

"No," she sighed, tracing invisible lines on his chest, "I'm just savoring the moment."

He snorted, "there will be more. Lay down."

She did as he told her, curling up to his side and stroking his hair, watching as his spidery bangs escaped her grasp as her hand moved back, bouncing against his face. She smiled.

"You know what makes me sad?"

Saitou opened one eye. "orphaned puppies?"

"No," she said quietly, laying her head down on his chest. "the fact that. . .this isn't forever."

He didn't respond. He didn't know how. She was rarely ever sentimental with him. Their relationship was rooted in the physical. There wasn't any room for harboring emotions.

"You'll get married, and you'll have kids," she whispered, her giant heaving sigh shuddering through her ribcage, "and I'll—well I don't know what I'll do."

"You've got time to figure it out," he replied, "you're still young."

He could feel her holding back tears. She may have been mature for her age, clever and adventurous, but she was still female. She was still just a kid.

Not wanting her to break down here with him, he rolled over on top of her, holding himself up with his elbows, kissing the underside of her jaw.

"High school will be nothing but a memory," he told her, "you will study far away from your home. You'll find a sappy idiot and he will steal your heart."

Tokio laughed at that. "Nice boys don't like girls like me."

"That's a lie," he quipped, nipping at her collarbone.

"But I can't imagine anything better than this," she sighed wiggling her lower half as he lifted her arms above her head, locking them in place. "or anyone better than you."

"There are plenty of men better than me," he told her, his voice thick with sardonic humor.

She smiled slightly, unconvinced, but her eyes become brighter, less melancholy when he pulled her legs up around his waist. She needn't be thinking on such things now.

"I'm nothing more than a temporary cure for your desperate heart," he said, pulling her up and against his chest, burying his face in her hair, loving the smell of her shampoo. He held the back of her head with one hand, and pressed the other firmly against her spine, keeping her in place.

"And what about me?" she asked, her voice a breathy whisper as she melted into him, "am I yours?"

"Yes," he growled resolutely, possessively, "you are mine."

_Even when you belong to someone else, you are mine._

xxxx

**Author's Note: ** It's actually hard for me to digest the thought of a universe where Saitou & Tokio don't end up together in the end. :(


End file.
